


Lies My Parents Told Me

by LydiaArgent



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Post-Season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2466710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaArgent/pseuds/LydiaArgent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“In case you were unaware,” Carolina manages wryly, “last time I was in charge of people? Didn't turn out so great.”</p><p>Everyone on Chorus has things to put back together, including Carolina.</p><p>(Written for Carolina Appreciation Week)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies My Parents Told Me

Three days after the truce is loudly negotiated, Carolina strides in to the shared base's makeshift medical bay. The fading sunlight shines in through the dingy windows, showing mismatches cots, uneven bouquets of wildflowers in plastic cups, and patients chatting and trading parts of their dinner. Out of their armor, she can't begin to tell who had been fighting on which side of the war. 

She walks up behind one of the trainee medics. He's changing the bandage on someone who looks like she got both a back full of shrapnel and the good painkillers.

“Hey,” she drawls, “it's the scary awesome tuc, turwi...fuck, blue lady!”

The medic does a double take, and says “Hi! Can I, uh, help you with something?”

“I'm looking for Dr. Grey.”

“Back here!” a cheerful voice calls out from behind a fabric divider at the far end of the room.

Dr. Grey has improvised an office, a small area with a wobbling desk and two chairs. Her Federal Army helmet's on the floor next to her, and she's fiddling with a terrifying looking diagram on a data pad.

“What can I do for you?”

“You told me you needed to check on my leg today, or I'd find myself, and I quote, 'missing some very in-demand vital organs,'”

Dr. Grey claps happily. “And here you are! My motivation tactic was successful. Now get that armor off and get your tush in the chair.”

The hip joint of her armor unseals with a hiss, and Dr. Grey inspects the damage.

“It looks like it's healing well,” She sounds vaguely disappointed, and Carolina bites down on a smile. “I'll go ahead and take the last of the stitches out now.”

There's only a faint sting as the small threads come out of her skin. “You're back in fighting shape now! If you get stabbed by another mercenary, I will be very disappointed in you, young lady.”

Carolina grins and says “I can't make you any promises,” as she clicks her armor back into place.

Dr. Grey calls out “Hope I'll see you soon!” as she walks back through the infirmary. Carolina decides to not overthink that one, and waves back over her shoulder.

The base is simple, a group of sturdy building and a few training yards surrounded by a high wall studded with guard towers. It's teeming with people and somehow louder than the MoI ever managed to be, a constant din of people shouting, armor on concrete, and fuzzy announcements over the PA system. A warthog blasting klesmer music rounds a corner, and Carolina has to leap out of the way as the driver shouts “Shit motherfuck, coming through! Sorry!”

It's amazing, how quickly everyone has adapted. The first day on the new base, she could have drawn fixed lines in between the former Federal and New Republic soldiers, if they wouldn't have been obliterated by the glares. Calling the atmosphere 'tense' would be a massive understatement. Carolina had been ready for another civil war to take care of everything for Hargrove before his soldiers even arrived.

Then, in the middle of the afternoon, Vanessa Kimball casually came out of the armory, hemet off. She walked clear across the campus to her office, stopping along to way to check in with some of the soldiers along the way.

It's harder to keep up a grudge when everyone's got a new common enemy and is trying to make the new base livable. And no one likes breathing recycled air all the time. It wasn't long before soldiers from both sides were shedding their helmets and armor and reserve. By the second evening, the head cook was chasing Grif halfway around the building in just plain clothes and an apron, wielding a heavy looking ladle.

It makes Carolina edgy, but she'll be the first to admit that it's worked wonders for morale.

She crosses the main quad, dodging a chattering group carrying bags of clean bedding to the barracks, thinking about heading to the training room before dinner.

“Agent Carolina.” She turns at the sound of Kimball's voice, cutting clear and calm through the disorder. “Walk with me?”

Carolina falls into step with Kimball, heading toward the perimeter of the compound. She should be polite and take her helmet off as well, she knows, but her years of training still won't let her walk around a military base unprotected.

“I'm not anyone's agent anymore, sir.”

Kimball smiles slightly. “That's true, you're not. So, Carolina. What were you thinking you'd do to make yourself useful around here?”

“I'm here for the fight. Consider my skills yours, as long as you need them. I think I'm done with the solo missions for now.” They head up the steps to the outer wall, and begin to walk the perimeter. From up here, Carolina can see traces of patterns in the soldiers' movement, like a hive putting itself to rights.

“Hm.” Kimball looks thoughtful. “You do have a unique skill set. But the last thing we need is another mercenary.”

“I'd never ask for--” Carolina balks, and Kimball waves her off.

“Hey, I know you're not asking for money, and I know you're here for the right reasons. You're one hell of a fighter, but we don't need more fighters. This army is a bunch of dedicated, scared kids who are more than ready to fight a real enemy. What we need is leaders.”

Carolina smiles at that. “Thank god they've got you. It took some serious guts to walk out without a helmet on day one.”

Kimball almost snorts. “Damn straight. I almost threw up when I got back to my office, but hey. It was a calculated risk,” She gestures out over the busy compound. “And it worked. It's way harder to hate other people when they look like actual people.”

Kimball's dark eyes turn intent on Carolina's faceplate, and her voice becomes serious.

“But here's the thing. If I'm going to be in charge of this army, I need someone else to be in charge of the soldiers. So,” she raises an eyebrow, “how does the title Brigadier General sound?”

Carolina's speechless for a moment, and her voice is flat when she finds it. “I can't accept that.”

Kimball's other eyebrow goes up. “May I ask why not?”

“In case you were unaware,” she manages wryly, “last time I was in charge of people? Didn't turn out so great.”

“I've seen how you are with the Reds and Blues, and I've seen how the soldiers look up to you. You're what they need.” Kimball sounds so certain that Carolina is almost angry at her.

“Look, I don't know what happened with Project Freelancer, but it seems to me like you all got royally screwed over. And I know a little bit about getting screwed over. I fucked up with Felix,” she says, voice tight. “but I've got to believe I learned something from it. Because here I am, still leading an army.” 

“And you're doing a fantastic job,” Carolina answers, honestly. 

Kimball lets out a long breath as she turns to leave. “My point is, don't let it stop you do from doing a single goddamn thing. You could do some real good here.”

She claps Carolina on the shoulder before heading down the flight of steps and back toward the compound. Carolina stays on the wall, and watches how the flow of activity in the compound re-orients as Kimball passes through the center.

“Lady's got balls of fuckin' steel.” Epsilon flares to life over her right shoulder.

“She sure does.”

“...You're thinking about it, aren't you.” He sounds excited, and Carolina turns on him.

“You should know better than anyone why this is a terrible idea.”

“I don't, actually. You're a goddamn pro at this!”

“Maybe I used to be. Not anymore.”

“Why the hell not?” Epsilon flares grey and black for a second. “I mean, our solo heroics were totally badass, but I thought we were done. This here, this is a good fight.”

Carolina groans in frustration and turns away to look back over the base. “I'm staying, and I'm fighting. Hell, I'll even do some hand-to-hand training, lord knows they could use it. But I can't lead them.”

“Who the fuck else is going to do it? Caboose?”

Carolina's voice is low and quiet. “The last time I led a team, I let my goddamn ego get in the way of doing my job well, and my entire team suffered. My entire team died,” she swallows, and wishes her hands would stop shaking. “They died because of me.”

Epsilon's actually silent for several seconds. “Seems like that'd be the fault of the person who actually, y'know, made it his mission to fuck all of us over. Carolina,” He sounds thoughtful, like he's conferring with his other fragments, “you blame yourself for all the Director's shit?”

“What he did was horrific, but I made it worse.” She clutches the railing until it creaks. 

Epsilon sighs. “You know I'm on board with whatever you decide. Which should say something, by the way. But, sis, just remember. You're only half Church.” He flickers out. 

She stays out, watching the sun go down and people start to head inside for the evening. When the second moon starts to rise, she heads down the steps and back toward the base.

“Hey, Carolina!” She turns as Wash jogs up next to her. “We missed you today.”

“Was there somewhere I was supposed to be?” She starts to walk with him back to the middle of the compound.

“We got our squads assigned today. Well,” he corrects, “Me, Sarge and Donut did. Everyone else got reunited with theirs. I never thought I'd see that many screaming women throw themselves on top of Simmons.” He's not laughing outright, but it's a close thing. “Times, they are a changin'.”

“They sure are.”

Carolina suddenly realizes what she'd said to Epsilon was egregiously wrong. She does has a lot of people death's on her hands, but she didn't lose everyone.

“You'll do a good job with them, Wash.”

“Thanks, I hope I will.” She'd almost forgotten how painfully earnest Wash can sound. “I did learn from the best, after all.”

Wash tilts his head curiously when she doesn't have an immediate sarcastic response. “Kimball got other plans for you?”

“You could say that.”

Wash visibly makes the decision not to push. “I'm heading in for dinner. You coming?” He gestures through the doors of the mess hall. It's a testament to how many soldier's both sides lost that both armies don't overcrowd the single room.

“Not right now. You go on.”

Wash waves goodbye over his shoulder. All of the reds and blues are sitting at a table by the door, and Carolina watches Wash elbow his way in between Tucker and Simmons. 

“Dude, you're late. I almost had to stab Grif in the hand to keep him away from your tray.”

“Hey, you snooze you lose. Law of the jungle here.” 

Carolina turns away, smiling, reminded of a particularly memorable fight in the freelancer cafeteria that started with Maine stealing Wash's cake and ended with C.T.'s favorite knife lodged in the refrigerator door and South, spaghetti sauce in her hair, standing on the counter yelling “I'm on home base, motherfucker!” at a hysterically laughing York. The memory doesn't hurt like she thought it would. It's the ache of nostalgia, rather than the bright pain of her failure to keep them together.

Everything she's done since the MoI crashed – taking out the remains of Project Freelancer, killing the Director, hunting down Control – she tries to remember what it was for. She wanted revenge. She wanted to make things better, if she couldn't make them right.

It occurs to her, for the first time, to ask herself what making things better really means, what it actually looks like. She thinks about the Reds and Blue, about how this army is starting to pull itself together. And she realizes that maybe she did learn something from her fuck up, from the people who screwed her over. 

She's been wandering aimlessly though the compound, and finds herself looking at Kimball's office door.

Everyone else on Chorus is trying to build something new and good after years of fighting. There's no excuse for her to not do the same.

 

*

 

Carolina marches up the hill in front of the parade ground, and stands at parade rest. 

“Soldiers!” she barks, not bothering to use the helmet's loudspeaker. “Squad up!”

There's a wordless scramble as they break into their squads and stand at some version of attention. Once they've all stilled, she takes a deep, quiet breath and takes off her helmet. 

From the group of Captains lined up one side of the parade ground, she hears Tuckers voice. “Holy fuck, Carolina's a stone cold fox – oof, ow, bitch!” Wash is innocently looking straight ahead, and it's only from years of practice that Carolina can keep a straight face.

She steps down from the hill, paces slowly through the ranks. She can feel the faces behind the helmets. Her voice carries easily across the silence of the yard.

“Everyone, I want you to take a good look around. This is your squad. Your squad isn't your team, and they're sure as hell not your friends. 

These are the people who are going to save your life. These are the people who you're going to fight tooth and nail to protect. Your squad is your family.

You're training to become a better soldier, a better fighter. But it's not for your own damn sake; it's for theirs. Remember that.”

She walks down the last row and turns sharply to face her soldiers. She grins, and one or two of them take a small step back.

“So when I say 'run 20 laps of the compound,' I expect to see actual running. Are we clear?”

There's a loaded pause.

“Soldiers! Are we clear on what running is?”

A disjointed chorus of “Sir, yes sir!” and “Yes ma'am!” spills out.

“You have an hour to get your whole squad back. Every extra minute is 20 push-ups for everyone. Starting now.”

There's a desperate scramble, some whooping yells, and a few high-fives as the squads take off. 

As soon as they're out of sight, the captains all break out laughing and talking. Carolina can actually hear them planning drills.

She walks by and reminds them “Meeting in the debrief room at ten-hundred. We've got training schedules to plan.”

They make general noises of consent, and Caboose whisper-yells “Ten hundred of what?”

Wash calls out after her, “Good to have you back, Boss.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the excellent Buffy episode of the same name.


End file.
